Explain the night
by eretria
Summary: Hope has died. Or hasn’t it? Sequel to "Candles"
1. Default Chapter

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Title: Explain the night

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Author: eretria

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Rating: PG

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Archive: If you liked it, just ask, and please keep the header.

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Time line: **_Return of the King_** –"_The field of Cormallen_"

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Disclaimer: Middle Earth and all its inhabitants, the Sundering seas and Over-heaven belong to the incredible genius that was J.R.R. Tolkien. No copyright infringement is intended, I am not making money from this at all, and will always stay in deep and humble adoration of the wonderful world he has created and in which I have lived since I was 4 years old. Thank you. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, or so they say. I hope this is at least a little flattering and enough to make the great man smile from up there.

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Summary: Hope has died. Or hasn't it? Sequel to "Candles"

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Feedback: This was a labour of love. Do leave comment, please.

Send them to: tiny_eretria@yahoo.com or post a review right here. :o)

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Author's Note: Extremely, enormously, uncommonly dark for a Hobbit fic. Dark. And I mean it.

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Italicised paragraphs denote flashbacks or dreams.

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Dedication: This really was only written because of those wonderful Ladies: Franziska – my favourite King of Gondor fancier, lovely friend. Kati-Wan. I love you, sweets. Leslie – the most incredible, most Tolkien-knowledgeable beta-reader I have ever had the pleasure to find. This woman does wonders with a single, well-placed question. Can't thank all of them enough. They rock my world.

S1ncer1ty: For some of the most beautiful stories I have ever read. Angsty, beautiful, wonderful. Thank you.

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NON-slash, lads and lassies. Don't look for it. You won't find it in my writing. Sorry.

Angels, answer me,

are you near if rain should fall?

Am I to believe

you will rise to calm the storm?

For so great a treasure words will never do.

(Roma Ryan)

***

The room hadn't changed. It was still clean, sparsely furnished, but welcoming, small, yet not stifling. It hadn't changed. The hangings on the window were still light in colour, the alcoves still covered with white linens. It still had the smell of burned down candles wafting through the air.

It hadn't changed.

But everything else had. . .

***

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With trembling fingers, Merry bent down to the candle. The smell of its smoke mingled with the smell of burnt structures inside the city, surging in from outside. It couldn't be. How could it possibly be that the candle had died? It had been a very broad candle, meant to burn for days and days. He had been observant all the time, had always kept an eye on it, had watched it grow smaller and smaller, yet he had nurtured it and had taken precautions that the light would survive – then one brief moment of being inattentive, and the light had died. It mustn't be. Trying to control the tremors, he balled his hands into fists and pressed them to his eyes. No. This was all wrong. It couldn't be. It mustn't be. He had to do something.

Then finally it hit him. All he had to do was to light the candle again. There was still a chance to correct his mistake. He just had to touch the flame of his candle to the other one. Everything would be fine, then. Nothing would make him shift his attention away from it ever again. Nothing. 

Taking the fists from his eyes and slowly easing the fingers one by one, he reached for the other candle – his candle – that still burned strongly and stared into the flame. A bright yellow top. A bluish base. A perfect shape – dancing, living. Careful not to let the wax drown the second flame as well, he moved over to the candle that wasn't burning anymore. The flame touched the black wick, sunken into the once liquid wax. For endless moments, nothing happened. The flame caressed the other candle, softly, gently, as though coaxing the other light to come back to life. Merry whispered under his breath, things he wasn't aware of, encouraging words, pleas, hopes his soul voiced but was afraid to let his mind know. Molten wax ran over his fingers. He didn't even feel the pain. Tears of despair gathered in his eyes. Still nothing happened. The flame flickered.

The barest patter of slippered feet sounded _outside his window, but he was hardly aware of it. The only sound truly known to his heart was the sputtering of the candle. It had to work. The light _had_ to live again. It was unthinkable that it wouldn't work out. His plan was perfect. It couldn't possibly fail. Nevertheless he sent a plea for help to whatever good powers there were in the world._

"Merry."

Like the screeching of a breaking harp-string, the calling of his name brought Merry out of his trance. His hands trembled from the sudden break out of concentration, his heart thumped wildly.

"No draft. Please, no draft. Don't touch the door."_ The thoughts were racing behind his forehead. He had to stop the intruder from entering the room. He had to keep the door shut. But how could he do that without leaving the candles? There was no way he could . . ._

The door opened with a swish. Warm air rushed in the room and found its way out the window again, carrying with it a light, floral scent.

"No." Merry stared at the candles, horrified, engulfed by utter darkness. "Please, no." Where only seconds ago there had been a flame, trying to coax the other candle back to life, there was a smoking wick now. 

"Merry? I bring tidings that you must hear."

In the darkness, the messenger stepped forward and knelt next to Merry, the fine garments rustling. Eowyn. If she came all the way down to this room, even though she was far from being completely healed, it could only mean one thing. Terror shot through his soul. Even though his heart knew why she had come, he wasn't ready to hear what Eowyn had to say. He never would be. He never could be. 

There was a last, weak glowing in the wick. 

"The eagles brought word from the battle-field. The enemy is defeated! The Dark Lord Sauron is no more!" The enthusiasm in her low, beautiful voice was obvious. "The war is over, Meriadoc of the Shire." 

Eowyn paused and put a gentle hand on Merry's arm. "But I have more . . ." Her voice trailed off, swallowed by darkness. There was a tinge of deep sadness in the warmth of her timbre. "The joy of victory . . ." The Lady of Rohan, the powerful and fearless White Lady of Rohan halted, and a light tremor passed from her hand to Merry's arm. "It is tainted by a bitter aftertaste. The valient armies of the Captains of The West were vastly outnumbered and our losses were grievous. Many were slain, and even more are missing upon the field of battle. Your friend . . ." Her voice faded into the background of Merry's heartbeat, suddenly deafeningly loud. There was nothing he could hear anymore. Nothing but the blood rushing through his veins, slowly, so very slowly. Each heartbeat lasted a small eternity.

The wick stopped gleaming. 

Both candles had died.

Even if he had heard them, there would have been no need for any more words. 

Merry knew.

***

TBC


	2. 2

"_Actually, it's impossible to speak about Pippin without mentioning Merry. _

His [Pippin's] whole life is about his friends, and especially about Merry. 

The two of them are as close as friends can be- closer than family

- so close you can't even imagine one of them doing

something without the other."

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(Billy Boyd)

***

The broth was wasted on him. They should have given it to someone who was in need of it. To someone who wished to sustain life. To him, everything was tasteless, colourless, cheerless, pointless. Everything had lost its meaning since the candles had died. 

Never before had he felt so helpless. Merry knew that he couldn't possibly have stopped Pippin from going to battle. He knew it was the younger one's duty to serve in the great army, but still, he wished . . . The image of his cousin, his hair the usual mass of unruly curls, with grey eyes sparkling mischievously and an infectious smile on his lips, stared at Merry. Memory stood as a last fortress of light shining on his bleak inner landscape.

Left were memories, cast over with a misty hue, already beginning to fade when he had the desperate wish to cling to everything and anything which connected him to Pippin. The face which looked at him from the shadows was a memento of happy times, times in which he often had believed them to be brothers much rather than cousins. 

Merry remembered his own battle at the Pelennor fields. He remembered seeing Theoden fall, and the pain of seeing the one who had been like a father to him die. He remembered the Houses of Healing. He remembered how time had seemed not to exist as he had hovered between life and death, so near to the brink of no return. Shadows. Shadows and darkness. A terrible cold. Until a soft voice had called him back. 

Aragorn had been the one to bring Merry back from the brink of the abyss, but he could not remember him doing so. The soft voice he remembered was the one who had urged him to live. The one which had pleaded with him to return. The voice had been Pippin's.

Shivering, he pushed back the memory. No one should have had to face the things he had seen. Certainly not gentle Pippin, not the one who had brought him back with his familiar voice, his careful touch and the bright light of his friendship.

But Merry knew that Pippin had faced the terrors of warfare now. There was no hope he – the young Hobbit-lad with no experience in battle – could have escaped unscathed.

So many good people had left Middle-earth forever.

Merry had lost them all – Frodo, Sam, Boromir, Theoden and most of all – Pippin. Foolish, big-hearted Pippin. His was a loss that could not be borne and the emptiness that Merry felt, knowing Pippin was gone, left a raw wound on his soul that would never ever heal. If friendship truly was one soul shared between two people, this wound *_could_* not heal.

As though kindled by the woe, the icy ache in his arm resurrected. The throbbing had worsened since Eowyn had brought him the dreadful news. The physical pain in his arm was almost an act of mercy: If he solely concentrated on the pain, maybe the memories would be stopped from surfacing. Maybe the physical pain would overpower the mental anguish.

Maybe. He stirred the broth, which had gone cold long ago. It mattered not. Time had slowed down immeasurably since he had watched his cousin depart. For all he knew, eternities had passed, eternities of waiting and wondering. Eternities of being torn between hope and utter hopelessness. Merry lifted the spoon and watched idly as the broth dripped back into the bowl. What was the use in eating if there was no one to share the food with? 

Eowyn hadn't said that Pippin was dead. 

For a while there had been the wild and unlikely hope that his best friend may have come out of the battle unscathed, but that spark had died quickly. He had faced battle before Pippin. He knew the face of war, knew the face of death. How was his cousin – a boy, really, not even come of age yet – how could this frail, fae lad survive in a raging battle of such sheer magnitude? What hope was there left for Merry to cling to, thinking about the huge size of the foes against a tiny, lone Hobbit? 

Hope – it was something that was out of reach for Merry since he had attacked the Nazgul King. It danced before his eyes, but he couldn't get a firm grasp on it, like a fair bird, flying away whenever he tried to catch it. The only time he had been able to hope for a good ending of the whole story had been that night, spent next to each other. Without words they had shared precious moments of complete understanding and pure nearness, learning anew how powerful a force friendship could be. Pippin's falling asleep next to him, so full of trust that the older cousin would watch over him, had given Merry serenity and peace which had shone like a bonfire of hope. 

Now the shadow had returned, and it was impossible to flee the darkness in his soul.

He stirred mechanically, tired beyond measure. The spoon clinked softly against the bowl. The room was silent. A soft jingle there and then. The sound of the soup, swishing in the bowl. It mattered not. Nothing mattered. He was alone. 

***

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He was flying. Soaring high above the world known to him into a place yet unheard of. There was a blissful lack of thoughts – nothing disturbed him in his solitude, nothing stopped his flight. A gentle wind _carried him higher, rustled his hair like the caress of a familiar hand._

***

Days had passed since that dark afternoon. A few hours, spent in uncomfortable wains going over rocky paths. Then days upon the ship, surrounded by nothing but people talking about how the battle had been won and how bravely the Armies of the West had fought. Rumours spread like wild-fires, spirits were high and the general mood was hopeful. Hopeful that the healers would be able to help, that the direly needed healing supplies would reach the wounded in time.

Merry shared none of the hopes. 

Days, passing like grey clouds.

How many had passed exactly, Merry could not have said. He sat in the wain and stared out at the landscape going by. He did not see the beauty of it. He barely even noticed the change from wain to boat, barely felt the soft motion of the vessel when they followed the flow of the river Anduin towards the Field of Cormallen. He merely did as he was bade, sat where he was placed, took the berth shown him upon the ship, and just *_was*_... 

Three days passed in silence. Three days in which his thoughts dwelled on nothing but memories and self-accusations. Three days – but they all swam into one.

***

Merry couldn't tell when he had slipped into the memory. But all of a sudden it was there.

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Eowyn was clad in white, gleaming in the hall like a star that had fallen out of the night sky and graciously gave its light to the world now. Before, he would have been blinded by her beauty. Now, he only registered it with a numb sort of interest. Had it not been for his deep sense of duty and courtesy, he would have refused to come. All he wanted to do was crawl away somewhere and not be bothered. Maybe he would be forgotten. Maybe, if they all stopped caring about him so much and left him alone, he would simply not wake up anymore one morning. That was all he wished for - to sleep and not feel the emptiness of his loss ever again. 

But as it was, there had been no excuse to deny Eowyn's plea to come to her.

The Lady of Rohan wore a black ribbon in her hair, a sign of her grief, standing out sharply against the golden curls. When she saw Merry entering, she motioned for the door-wardens, who had escorted the Hobbit, to leave. The hall was silent, and her soft steps produced an eerie echo in the high room.

With an incredible effort, Merry raised his eyes and looked at Eowyn. "You asked me to attend you, Lady?"

The tall woman reached his side and motioned for him to follow her to a pair of chairs. 

"I am very glad to see you here, Merry." Her voice was sincere. "How are you faring?"

This was beyond absurd, and Merry would have given a sarcastic snort had the situation been any less serious. He just looked at the Lady, not hiding any of his grief from her.

Eowyn's hand moved up in a comforting gesture, but stopped half-way. She was the white Lady of Rohan. She was the one people looked up to, she was the one giving hope where there was none. But being as it was, showing feelings was impossible for her. Her heart almost broke , though, when she looked at the Hobbit sitting next to her. Merry had changed during those past days _since the Armies of the West had marched away. He had been vibrant, charming and surprisingly strong. He had overcome his deepest fears in battle, had been fiercely loyal and yet still managed to keep the cheerfulness which was so typical for Hobbits. But since his cousin, Peregrin, had left, Merry had started to fade. At first, no one had seen it. It had been a slow process, and she had been too wrapped up in her own dark world of despair and hopelessness to see it. But after the eagles had come, she had found new meaning in life. She had accepted her place in the world which was about to unfold itself anew. She had found someone to share her life with._

But Merry . . . It had pained her to seek him and bring him the news, tidings all of woe. Yet she had known that it was her duty to do so.

What shocked her most, was looking at Merry now. He had grown thin, pale and haggard. His usually gleaming blonde curls were dull, his face was grey and his eyes were older than even the ones of the Fair Folk. It wasn't possible. Yet she saw it, right there next to her, in the small Hobbit, whose once so radiant aura was now feeble and barely there anymore. The look in his eyes was . . . 

Eowyn shivered. It was almost . . . dead.

She hadn't known exactly what she would tell him, or what she could do to help him.

But upon scrutinising Merry, she unexpectedly knew what was needed.

"Did you see the wains on your way here?" she asked, gently. The Hobbit nodded, though it seemed as though ages passed until he did.

"They are going down to the Field of Cormallen, to bring healing supplies and help to the wounded."

Without any interest, just out of politeness, Merry turned. "Yes?" Again, Eowyn was taken aback by the emptiness she saw in those icy blue eyes.

She cleared her throat. "I want you to go with them."

The reaction she received wasn't exactly what she had hoped for. Merry sighed and looked down at his hands. His whole posture was defeated. Tired. Too tired to even argue.

"Why?" There was no curiosity in his voice.

The Lady of Rohan fought a raging battle inside herself. She wanted to shake the Hobbit and bring him out of his lethargy, but she knew there was no use in trying. She had never told him that his cousin had indeed fallen into shadow – into death. No one knew. But Merry seemed to be certain that the younger Hobbit had. How could he be so certain? There was hope left.

But Eowyn knew that speaking of hope would have sounded like bitter irony to Merry. She had faith in the Hobbit lad, Pippin. She had fought with Merry, and she knew that far more strength was to be found in Hobbits than everyone thought – if Merry was anything to go by. And Eowyn knew he was.

He just needed to see. There was hope. Even in the darkest of places. She had found it. And she knew, with all of her heart, that Merry would, too.

"Go with them, Merry. They have a need for helping hands and sharp eyes down there. Do what good you may, it will be greatly longed-for."

That said, she rose. But before she called the servants back in, she gently stroked Merry's cheek, an uncommon gesture from the white Lady. She bent forward and placed a soft kiss on the crown of his hair. It was a gesture of friendship, a delicate attempt to show her compassion to the Hobbit who had grown dear to her, but even to Eowyn, it felt oddly like a blessing.

***

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TBC

People!! I have checked on Murron's wee corner of ff.n, and she still doesn't have any more reviews for "Reniad". The story is extraordinary. It's beauty. It's perfection. Read it, and review, Please. The story's worth it!!!!!!!!

Also extremely worth reading: "Drowning in Amber" by s1ncer1ty


	3. 3

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Change is slowly coming 

My eyes can scarcely see.

The rays of hope come streaming

Through the smoke of apathy.

(Loreena McKennit)

***

"Merry." The voice insinuated into his mind, gentle but firm. "Merry, you need to wake up." 

Wake up? He couldn't recall having fallen asleep. But the gentle motion of the water moving the boat had stopped. Slowly opening his eyes, he stared up at the intruder with the same emotionless expression he had been carrying for days now. 

Merry's eyes widened slightly when he recognised the person who had woken him. 

Legolas. 

His aura seemed even more ancient than before. 

"I need you to come with me, Merry." The musical quality of the elf's voice was missing, replaced by****a strange undertone that chilled him to the bones.

"He is dead, isn't he?" Merry asked, his voice hollow and almost lifeless. 

Deliberately ignoring the Hobbit's question, Legolas urged: "Just come with me. We have need of haste." 

He reached for the Hobbit's hand and coaxed him gently off his chair. There were cuts and calluses on the slim hand, Merry noted as he followed Legolas's long strides. How many enemies had he fought? Slain? Had he watched out for Pippin? 

A sharp pain shot through his heart, almost making him double over. No. The Elf couldn't have watched out for Pippin, or he would still be here. His cousin was lost. He had had word from Eowyn. Theoden's sister-daughter, the woman he, Merry, had been fighting with would have told him if Pippin had been found, would she not?

So why did he even bother going with Legolas? What could possibly be important enough? He felt as though nothing would ever gain any level of importance to him again, now that Pippin was gone. Merry looked at Legolas a little closer, half-heartedly trying to find out the elf's reason for fetching him.

He scrutinised the tall elf with narrowed eyes. The expression on the noble face was unreadable. Was it fear? Worry? Hope? 

Hope?

Merry's heart did a somersault when Legolas half smiled at him, as though reading his expression. Suddenly, dreams of hope he had not admitted even to himself seemed to take root in real life.

Could it be? Could it? Was it possible that the Foolish Took had survived somehow? The spark of hope fuelled a fire. 

Merry felt energy tingling in his limbs. The pain in his arm lessened with the anticipation rushing through his veins, making him feel dizzy.

"Let us go. _Now_." Merry burst out, louder than he had meant to. If Legolas came to fetch him, it could mean but one thing. They had found Pippin. 

Yet he bit his tongue, effectively stopping the torrent of questions ready to spill out. He mustn't ask. If he was wrong, at least, there would have been hope for a few precious hours. Merry strove to numb his mind against the questions.

The elf rested his ancient blue gaze on the Hobbit when he lifted Merry onto the raven-black horse that was waiting for them. Legolas's eyes seemed to touch his soul, the deep blue gave him an amount of calm he hadn't felt in days. He found comfort in those eyes, and compassion.

Compassion . . . Merry quickly looked away. He didn't want to think about what else he saw in those ancient eyes. He didn't want to doubt; he needed to cling to this new-found hope.

And yet he was afraid of it. More terrified than he had ever been, even when he had attacked the Nazgul, because Merry knew, with an utter certainty, that this newly kindled fire would devour him should his irrational hope that his cousin was among those that yet lived turn out to be wrong.

***

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TBC

Llinos, s1ncer1ty – thank you for the beautiful feedback.

S1ncer1ty – to you, especially, for listening to my ramblings and for showing me my way to second breakfast. :o)


	4. 4

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Can I reach you with my voice?

Can I reach you with my words?

Can I reach you with my dreams...

(Noa)

***

By the time they dismounted and entered one of the large tents where the injured were being treated, Merry had learned that Pippin had been brought here, though Legolas had volunteered no further details and he had asked for none, fearing the answers might cause him to lose his hold on the fragile hope he had allowed to start growing within himself. Thus, the ride had passed in a strange, strained silence. 

Apparently, Legolas had been sent away before he could gather more information. Merry hushed the little voice inside his mind whispering that maybe the elf didn't want to tell him more. 

But that didn't matter. Merry didn't want to let go of his positive thoughts. His worst fears had been wrong, Pippin was back, he hadn't died on the battle-field, as Merry had thought. Many others had been lost, but they had found his cousin! Merry's spirits were high, almost enthusiastic and his strides were longer and swifter than ever. He felt that this keenness might well be looked upon strangely, but fate couldn't be cruel enough to have Pippin found for him and then taken away again. It simply could not. Smiling brightly, he strode on.

Subconsciously, though, he felt fear driving his mind to an almost desperate exhilaration. 

When Merry entered the area shaded by long white curtains, he had to stifle a grin. It looked strange, ridiculous. Pippin was almost swallowed by the huge white pillow and the covers. Pleasantly enough, though, Merry noted, they had chosen a bed almost Hobbit-sized in altitude, taking into account the Halfling's fear of heights. Pippin rested comfortably, as though sleeping, only the mop of curls was visible from where Merry was standing now. A radiant smile touched Merry's lips. He took tentative step forward, eager to get to Pippin's side. His heart was ready to burst. The faint scent of athelas in the air only managed to heighten his joy even more. So Aragorn had called Pippin back as well, like he had done for Merry himself. Just knowing that his best friend was there made him happier than he had ever been. A few more steps, and he would be able to see his cousin fully, he would stand next to the bed, and Pippin would open his eyes, and he would smile, and . . . 

Someone coughed uneasily, and Merry looked around at the others in the tent. 

Aragorn and Gimli stood vigil at the foot of the bed. Legolas slowly strode to stand next to the dwarf and exchanged a quick glance with the ranger. 

The moment Merry saw Aragorn's eyes, the smile died on his lips. 

This wasn't right. The ranger looked pale and overwrought, almost haggard. Why didn't Aragorn seem happy? Pip was here, he was well, why . . . He noticed Aragorn giving the elf a barely visible shake of his head. Merry's gaze flew back to Legolas. He had seen that expression on the fine elvish features before. When they had left Moria and Legolas had helped him to his feet – the elf had carried the same, anguished expression of a grief too deep for words. 

Merry's steps dragged to a stop half way between the companions and his cousin. Suddenly, he wasn't all too sure if he wanted to come any closer to the bed in which Pippin rested. He couldn't sense his cousin. The aura which was usually so powerful that Merry was able to sense it sometimes when Pippin was asleep, was gone. Fear constricted his heart in a cold, iron grip. 

The usually refreshing scent of athelas burned in his nostrils. 

Dwarf and elf looked at the man, an expectant plea in their eyes.

The tall ranger drew a shaky breath and closed his eyes briefly, as though steeling himself. Merry could see that he failed. He saw tears welling up in Aragorn's exhausted eyes - a sight that scared Merry more than he could tell. The ranger had never been the one to openly display his emotions. Eyebrows knitted together, Aragorn reached out a hand for the Hobbit at his side, a helpless gesture in this far too stifling spot in the pavilion. 

"Merry." Aragorn's voice broke and Merry knew. Knew with a certainty. Like a sudden, vicious blow to the stomach, reality crashed down on him. It was really here. The moment he'd been dreading most, but had prayed would never come. 

He couldn't breathe, couldn't feel his body. Everything grew numb. Icy cold. Merry swayed slightly when the darkness closed in on him. 

He tried to take a step towards the bed, then hesitated. He didn't want to lose that last picture of his cousin, before the battle, snuggled next to him like the little brother he had always been to Merry, his breathing even and deep. He didn't want that picture to be replaced by the nightmarish one he was about to see. 

Tremors ran through Merry's body. He needed to get closer. One step closer. He couldn't. But he couldn't stop either. 

Finally, his feet carried him to the bedside. He looked at the face, marred by cuts and bruises, barely recognisable. Underlying all those wounds and bruises, there was a ghastly paleness to his cousin's skin, showing through under the closed eyes.

Merry almost expected Pippin to open those eyes and wink at him, to see the usually so vibrant features shape into one of those charming smiles. But Pippin's features were utterly, unnaturally still. 

Of its own accord, Merry's hand reached toward his cousin, but stopped just before it touched Pippin's face.

"No," he whispered. "This isn't true." Merry threw a pleading glance in Aragorn's direction. "It cannot be true. Please. Tell me this is a dream." 

Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Gimli taking a step forward and Legolas stopping him with a hand on the dwarf's shoulder. 

Merry turned back to his cousin. His hand still hovered just above Pippin's cheek. He mustn't touch the lad. Pippin would be in pain if he . . . 

"Wake me up, please. This cannot be true," Merry whispered, pleading. 

His hand moved to hesitantly brush Pippin's curly bangs out of his eyes, careful of the injuries. It was a gesture so common to him. He had done this countless times since Pippin had been born, sometimes soothing, sometimes teasing. But now – what now? Merry's touch was light and gentle, not wanting to hurt the younger one. It took him a while to understand that in the place where his cousin dwelled now, there was no more pain. 

Darkness closed in on Merry when he ran his hand through his best friend's baby-soft curls, now matted with perspiration. No more would Pippin protest that he was too old to have his hair ruffled. No more . . . 

"It is my fault." 

It was a statement of utter agony. 

He moved his shaking hand away from Pippin's hair and balled it into a fist. "Why did you have to grow up just so that you could die . . . ?" 

Merry never would have expected be able to feel this much pain. His world had shattered in pieces too numerous to ever be put together again. It had started with the loss of Boromir. Then his dear friends Frodo and Sam. Theoden. Each of those losses had torn out parts of his heart and soul. And now Pippin. He could not cry. The task of remembering how to breathe was almost beyond his powers. 

__

Breathing. In and out. 

There was no other sound. 

__

Breathing. 

In. 

How much pain could a single person take without falling apart completely? How much more could _he_ stand without going insane? 

__

Breathing. 

Out. 

Without the only thought being how to follow the ones he had lost? For follow he knew he would – a soul which was torn so severely as was his, could not survive. 

__

Breathing. There was nothing but this sound. 

How much? 

Where there should have been feelings, there was nothing, just pain, like an overpowering, icy knife thrust into his heart - pain that was unending, and at the same time accompanied by an empty loneliness that was unbearable and incurable. 

What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he cry? 

In a last desperate attempt to regain the forever lost nearness, Merry found himself bending down and laying his head on his cousin's slim chest. It was still warm, just as though he still lived. Merry could smell the clean, energetic smell that was all Peregrin Took. Somehow, there was still a bit of the baby in this scent - the baby Merry had watched grow into a lively, cheerful tweenager. But Pippin wasn't breathing, wasn't reacting to him. There was no sudden poke in Merry's ribs, showing him that his cousin was awake. No small hand gently squeezing his shoulder to assuage his grief as Pippin would have done. 

As much as Merry wanted it, nothing happened, aside from the fact that the pain suddenly swept over him like a tidal wave. 

Merry sank into a heap next to his cousin and something broke loose inside him. 

The scream that flew from his lips was filled with guilt and anguish and anger. All the pain he had kept deep down inside of him since the candle had died was released into this scream. 

He wanted to cry so desperately. His eyes hurt and his head ached from those uncried tears, but they wouldn't flow. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he even cry for his best friend, cousin, his . . . brother at heart? 

Pippin was gone. 

Forever. 

Dead. 

There would be no happy end, no triumphant song like at the end of Bilbo's story, no "small hero finds his way back and lives happily ever after". Nothing. There could be no happily ever after . . . not without Pippin there to share in it . . . 

Nothing was left to Merry but emptiness and a lifetime of sorrow and guilt. He felt numb. But at the same time his heart ached so much that he believed it would stop beating any moment. 

If it only would. 

"Merry?" The sympathetic tone of the dwarf's usually gruff voice was unbearable. "I'm sorry. It took me too long to find him . . ." There was so much torment in those words. 

Still, Merry couldn't see past his own grief. Raising his head from his cousin's chest, he turned tearless, anguished eyes towards Gimli and shouted: "He never should have gone with you _at all_. You should have _protected_ him!" His voice rang sharp and cold through the tent. 

His gaze followed the sound of his own words, seemingly still ringing in the height of the pavilion. It was then that he noticed that none of the candles surrounding Pippin's bed was lit. None of the candles in the tent had been, he realised suddenly. There was no light except for the cruel, uncaring sunbeams penetrating the white hangings. 

Uneven breathing. A face, mask-like, not showing emotions. Merry wasn't sure if the dwarf was angry or trying to hold back his own tears. 

Merry looked at the youthful face of his cousin, marred by bruises and encrusted blood, waxen and lifeless. 

"It was _your_ responsibility! He was but a Hobbit, the smallest among you. How could you fail to protect him? How could you _all fail_?" He threw glances of the deepest accusation at the big people around him. At that moment, it didn't matter that Pippin had freely chosen to go. It didn't matter how much Merry belittled his cousin's bravery. The glaring white pain suffocated the voice of reason. 

His gaze fastened on Aragorn, a raging fire burning in it. "You," Merry spat out. Then the anguish in Aragorn's eyes registered and Merry's anger drained away, and he was left with the onslaught of the tears finally welling up. "Why did you come, you and your athelas plant? Every one of my kin who was on this quest is gone. I have lost them all! What was the use in bringing me back from death when now I am the only one left? What was the point? Why did you sentence me to live?" 

Hanging his head, Merry rested a hand on the rough material of Pippin's grey shirt. Grey. It had never been his colour. It made him appear much too grave, too solemn for the quirky Hobbit he was. 

How many times had Merry heard the steady beating of the heart now silent under his fingertips? In the nights when Pippin, barely more than a toddler back then, visiting his Buckland relatives, had woken up from nightmares, and had crawled into his cousin's bed, allowing the older one to comfort him. The little heart had beat fast at first, still noticeably concerned with the dreadful images of the nightmare, images only seen by children, lost to the more sensible minds of adults. Then slowly, after a lot of hushed words and soft caresses of the curly head next to Merry's, the thumping had slowed down, until the quiet breathing of the wee Hobbit and the heart-beat had become the perfect duet and only then would Merry allow himself to drift back to sleep as well.

Now there was nothing. The silence was deafening. The utter stillness cut into his soul. 

He shouldn't have expected it, but a part of him had hoped, had hoped so desperately that maybe this time _he_ was the one trapped in a nightmare and he would wake up to the steady heartbeat, like he had done in those nights when they had been children. 

"Do not leave me alone." The desperate plea floated through the athelas-spiced air. 

TBC


	5. 5

__

But I was dead once

And you raised me from the dead.

What else should I do but weep?

(Oscar Wilde – The duel of good)

***

Merry fell into the the memory of a conversation, held not long ago, yet it seemed like eternities had passed since then. _"I was afraid that if I blinked, I'd lose you. That if I fell asleep, you'd be gone in the morning. That I would miss it when you needed my help most."_ Pippin's words rang in his mind like a drum. A drum, stirring his guilt, tearing down the walls around his heart. A drum, vibrating throughout his whole being . . . 

Merry froze when the vibration reached his fingertips. The soft murmurs of the healers behind the white hangings died down and the tent grew deathly silent when he sharply sucked in a breath. 

It couldn't be. Was his heart, consumed by guilt, playing tricks on him? 

It couldn't be. Couldn't be. 

__

'But it has to be . . . please! It has to be . . .' 

But then he felt it again. A tiny, weak fluttering, like caged butterflies, trying to find their way out. 

Merry's heart did a painful leap in his chest. Was it possible . . .? He raised his eyes, blinking away the tears and reached for Aragorn's hand. The callused fingers of the ranger were cold in his trembling hand. Softly, as though afraid the vibration might be gone if he was too rash, he led Aragorn's hand to Pippin's chest and placed his own next to the long, tanned fingers. 

There it was again. Thump. Slowly growing steadier. Thump-thump. 

Neither Merry nor Aragorn breathed. No one in the hall moved. 

Thump-thump. Thump-thump. 

Music to his ears. Every vibration a thrill through Merry's fingertips. Emotions welling up, ready to choke him. His body suddenly seemed incapable of housing his heart. 

A droplet, glistening like a precious crystal touched Aragorn's hand. The ranger's long finger's engulfed Merry's smaller hand and squeezed it gently. More droplets fell and touched the gleaming silver ring on Aragorn's hand, seeking a strange acquaintance with the gemstone. It took the Hobbit a moment to realise he was crying. Tears were coursing down his cheeks, hot and unstoppable. And, giving in to the overpowering emotions, the great darkness that had settled in his soul was washed away by those cleansing tears. 

A miracle had happened. Merry didn't know how, and he didn't know why. But it had happened. 

Maybe what Gandalf had told Frodo in Moria was right after all. 

__

"There are other forces at work besides the will of evil." 

There had to be. And they had shown all their mercy today. 

Pippin was alive. 

***

It was the third day since that night. The third day – and still Pippin hadn't opened his eyes. By now, Merry was walking around in a daze. During the day, he would help the healers and Aragorn, sometimes even Gandalf. After he had been told that Frodo and Sam had returned and were in a deep, healing sleep not far away from the tent in which Pippin rested, he would sit next to their bedsides, watching their faces lose the grey hue and harsh lines which had been edged into them. By night, though, and in every spare minute, he would be at Pippin's bedside, eagerly awaiting the younger one to wake up, waiting for the slightest movement, the merest sound from the tiny Hobbit. 

He was torn inside – for every minute he spent outside the tent, he was with Pippin in his thoughts, but all the time he spent with Pippin, he remembered Eowyn's plea – do what good you may. Now, was he actually doing good here? He was just waiting – waiting for his cousins and Sam to wake up. But outside, there were people needing his help, too. It was a struggle as Merry had never faced one. How could he possibly be of any help when he was feeling so exceedingly helpless himself? 

Pippin had lost some of his paleness, and the wounds were beginning to heal. Remnants of the dark bruises were beginning to change into brilliant colours, purple, green, yellow. They slowly eased away. The bruises didn't look quite as menacing anymore, and everytime Merry went to sit next to his cousin, he could see another thing which brightened his spirits – or at least he tried to convince himself of that. 

But inside, he was impatient, frightened, worried and frustrated.

The third day – still nothing. Three days was a long time, and even though Pippin's heart was beating again, Merry was unsure if that really was enough. Would Pippin ever wake up again? It was a thought he quickly thrust back into the dark chamber from whence it had come.

TBC

All of you who gave me feedback:

Thank you. You can't begin to know how much that means to me

Can I give you all a hug? Yes?

*opens arms widely*

C'mere, you imps! *smiles broadly*

Oh, talk about smiling. Talk about deep, deep, DEEP emotions:

My dearest Padawan has written a new story.

All you Merry & Pippin lovers head over there NOW and read it.

It's so utterly beautiful, I'm still crying everytime I read it.

The new fic is called "Little bird" and can be found in Murron's corner of this site.

It's well worh reading - because it is simply beautiful and touching and shining like a little bright star . . .

And: Yes. I *am* proud of my Padawan. :o)


	6. 6

__

It's in the darkness of believing

It's in the shadows where we have to stand

Besides the loving and the grieving

Oh I'll never understand

(Dougie MacLean)

***

Soon after he had lit all the candles and had chased away the gloom, he realised that it probably hadn't been his best idea today. The flames would steal away a lot of the air Pippin needed to breathe. 

Merry bent down as quickly as his back, hurting from long days of work, allowed and started putting the candles out again. One after another he watched the flames vanish into thin clouds of smoke. It was only then that he noticed that the smoke was probably even worse than the burning candles. Frantically, he was trying to figure out a way to dispel the cloud which had grown thick and obtrusive by now out of the tent and cursed his suddenly so very Tookish behaviour. 

It was in that very moment, unnoticed, that Aragorn entered the tent. 

He watched the hobbit and his frantic attempts to make the smoke leave Pippin's little corner of the tent with growing concern. 

Merry didn't feel the anxious gaze of the ranger resting on him, he simply tried even harder to undo his mistake. Coughing heavily, he stumbled around in the tent, desperately trying to find a way to let fresh air inside. 

Aragorn caught him in mid-stride. "Merry, wait." 

After overcoming the initial shock of finding he had been caught behaving in such a confused fashion, the hobbit fidgeted and tried to find a way out of the ranger's firm grasp on his shoulders. It was to no avail, but Merry tried anyway. The slim hands had always belied Aragorn, but they were surprisingly strong. 

"What are you doing?" There was no accusation in the soft voice, just genuine concern. 

Merry let his gaze stray away from the ranger and fidgeted again, trying hard to get away from the soon-to-be King. 

"Merry, please. There is no need to explain. I saw what I saw. Do not worry about that. You do not have to talk. But please allow me to speak to you quite frankly." 

Merry looked up, amazed. He had expected a reproach for his most erratic behaviour rather than a plea. He nodded. 

"I have been watching you, Meriadoc. You have done great works here in helping us tend the wounded and harmonising the return of the army. And all this time, in every free moment, you have also sat vigil at Pippin's bedside and you have watched over Frodo and Sam." Aragorn smiled fondly at the hobbit who had gone slightly pink around his pointy ears. "We all are indebted to you, Merry." 

"No, please . . . you don't have to . . ." 

"Do let me finish, if you please?" Aragorn interrupted him softly. "As I have said, I have been watching you. I have noticed that you went on with no more than a catnap for almost four days and nights now. There has not been a moment of peace for you. Not a second to rest. I am worried about you, Merry, as a healer and as your friend." 

"There really is no need to . . ." Merry started, but halted when he noticed Aragorn looking at the still gleaming wicks of the candles surrounding Pippin's bed, and the thick clouds of smoke. 

"There isn't?" The ranger asked and arched an eyebrow. 

"I can't leave him alone here, Strider. I can't *_leave_* him." There was a determination in Merry's voice that surprised even him. "Not again. I will not leave him unless I am direly needed somewhere else. I cannot and I will not." 

Thoughtfulness flitted over Aragorn's face. Those hobbits really *_were_* amazing creatures. Their dedication towards each other far surpassed the family bonds of man, elf or dwarf. 

"How about you rest a little, and I will take over your vigil? After all, Pippin is my friend too." 

Merry squared his shoulders in determination. "I will not leave his side." 

"Who ever said you had to?" smiled Aragorn, son of Arathorn. His eyes shone warmly as he motioned towards one of the vacated beds next to Pippin. Merry shuddered when he thought of the reason for the empty bed. He had watched the tall man of Gondor who had been lying there fade a little more each day while Merry had sat at Pippin's side. The soldier had finally lost the battle against his severe wounds and had passed away quietly in the early morning. Afterwards, the bed had been freshly remade by the healers, but thankfully there were no more injured to fill it. 

"I . . . I can't." Merry shuddered again, visibly this time. "Not here." 

Aragorn noticed the strained tone in the hobbit's voice and understood immediately. Being the battle-hardened man that he was, Aragorn hadn't considered the hobbit's suspicions in this matter. He pondered the situation for a few blinks of an eye and then pulled over one of the make-shift beds the healer's used and placed it next to Pippin's bedside. It was much taller than the one in which the young hobbit rested, but it would have to do.

"Is that better?" he asked, gently, his eyes pleading for forgiveness of his inconsiderateness. And when the hobbit nodded imperceptibly, he continued: "You rest here, Merry. I will keep the vigil." 

"But what if he . . ." 

"I will wake you should Pippin wake up while you still sleep." 

"And what about the . . ." 

Aragorn followed Merry's gaze towards the only candle that was still burning next to Pippin. It cast a golden hue upon the youngest hobbit and showed that he rested comfortably. 

"Do not worry. I will watch out for the light. I will not let it go out." 

So Aragorn knew? Merry carefully raised his eyes to meet the man's. What he found there surprised him, and sent waves of soothing relief washing over him. Aragorn knew, though Merry couldn't tell how he had found out. But it was good to finally share the burden. The man knew about the importance of the candle. And Merry trusted him. Aragorn would take care of Pippin and would take care of the candle as long as Merry himself slept. Maybe the ranger would even do a better job in protecting the light. Aragorn had never failed until now, had he? He would not fail now. 

The weakness Merry had pushed back for four days now finally took a hold of him in that very moment. When he took a deep breath of the smoke-infused air, a coughing fit seized him and shook him mercilessly. Sheer stubbornness was all that kept Merry on his feet, for the fit of coughing used up what small reserve of strength he still had, and left him trembling. 

He felt foolish and small and terribly useless, now that there was no more need for him to keep his mind occupied by duty. 

"Are you sure?", Merry ventured, one last time trying to fight the inevitable. 

This time, Aragorn didn't smile. He simply lifted Merry onto the bed and pushed him down with gentle resolve. "Rest, Merry. And do not let your heart be troubled anymore. There is nothing you can do now but wait." He settled the rough linen cover over Merry and tucked it in under the hobbit's chin. "You wouldn't want Pippin to look into a grey and tired face when he wakes up, would you?" 

Merry allowed himself a small lopsided smile and snuggled into the welcoming warmth of the cover. "You're probably right," came the muffled response. And after a while, he added, his eyes closed already: "As usual." 

"Sleep." There was obvious amusement in Aragorn's voice. 

Merry heard his friend, the High King opening one of the tent's casements, then settling into a chair between Pippin's and his own bed. Fresh, moist air wafted in. After a while, Aragorn started humming a soft, familiar tune. 

__

His friend, the High King. It was only now, in his utter exhaustion, that Merry put those two aspects of Aragorn together for the first time. What an odd thing to say about a High King. What a decidedly un-hobbitish relationship to lay claim on, Merry noted with a mental snicker. 

It was only when he had already fallen half asleep, and with a last conscious effort, that Merry recognised this song as one of the Shire's lullabies. 

__

Friend to the King. Others might laugh. But the fact that he was a friend to the High King was no more unbelievable than that the High King was soothing a weary hobbit to sleep with a lullaby from his own little homeland. 

A smile played on Merry's lips when he finally fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

***

"Merry. Wake up, quickly." 

Later on, Merry couldn't recall ever having left his bed with such alacrity again. Within the blink of an eye, he stood next to Pippin's bed, his knees weak from the sudden waking, his hands trembling. It was a good thing Aragorn supported him with an strong hand on his upper arm. 

The tent ceased to exist. Aragorn ceased to exist. Suddenly, his world consisted of nothing but the small figure of his cousin lying in the bed before him. 

He felt the grey eyes watching him from under lowered lashes. For a second or two, he didn't dare move, fearing that he was still dreaming. 

Tired, confused eyes, watching him. So tired in fact, that Pippin barely had the power to keep them open. Yet there was life in them, a spark and a deep relief to find Merry at his side. In that dreadful hour when he had almost lost Pippin, Merry hadn't been able to feel the younger one's strong life essence. It had cut deeper than anything. But now, Merry saw not only the life in Pippin's eyes, but also felt the essence, faint still but strong emanating from his cousin again. 

When the younger hobbit closed his eyes again, Merry reached for the slim, warm hand on the white linen and squeezed it gently. He needed three attempts until his voice was finally strong enough to rise above his own breathing. "Pip?" It was all he managed to squeeze around the lump in his throat. It sounded breathless and choked, no matter how much Merry was trying to sound natural. 

The small hand squeezed back, although weakly. Merry's heart jumped. The moments which passed afterwards were sheer agony. He waited anxiously, impatiently for Pippin to gather up the strength to open his eyes again. Seconds seemed to drag into hours. 

Then, after what to Merry felt like an eternity, the lashes fluttered up and fully revealed those clear and familiar grey eyes looking at him. 

"Merry?" His cousin's voice was a bare whisper, raspy from disuse, but still recognisably Pippin with his lilting, boyish tone and his so very typical Tookish burr. 

"Yes, Pippin?" Merry bent forward. Restraining himself in that moment from embracing his cousin with earth-shattering force was the most difficult thing Merry had ever done. Not for a moment letting himself forget Pippin's still serious condition, and the need to be mindful not to cause him more physical pain he simply fixed his gaze eagerly upon the younger ones face, letting his eyes, glistening with tears he refused to let fall, speak of the happiness his heart could not find the words for. "What is it?" 

A mischievous twinkle appeared in the grey eyes. "Have I missed breakfast?"

***

TBC

Yes, a TBC. No, this story isn't quite done yet. I still have something up my sleeve.

I STILL don't see more feedbacks on Murron's "Little Bird" 

That story is worth reading, people. Really. It will leave you with an amount of warmth in your soul which you haven't experienced in a long time.

Do leave comments on her story. She's all sad, and I can't take those puppy dog eyes much longer without hugging her to death.

By the way, I should let you know that your feedback is quite addictive. It's almost embarassing to admit that I'm rushing to this site almost every day, to see if people actually like this story.

I'm never quite sure, you know? *smile*

That said, I'm sorry that I kept you waiting so long. I hope it was worth it, though.

*hugs*

eretria

P.S.: I didn't consult my beta-reader on the last changes for this chapter. So if there are any glaring mistakes, just blame it on me not being a native speaker. :o)


	7. 7

__

Light up your face with gladness

Hide every trace of sadness

Although a tear maybe

Ever so near

(Turner/Parsons)

***

The tray was loaded to the point where it looked in danger of breaking under the weight of the food. There was bread and cheese, soup and vegetables, meat and fish, cake and pies, pastries and most importantly Pippin's favourite food – custard. Balanced on a corner, swaying dangerously, was a steaming cup of tea. Of course, Merry was aware of the fact that Pippin would probably not be allowed to eat half of what he had brought, but Merry had been so caught up in collecting that he hadn't been able to stop. Besides, seeing what he was missing out on would only make Pippin rise from the bed faster. 

Merry placed one foot in front of the other with studied deliberation, careful not to drop anything. Looking over the various shapes on the covered tray, he wondered if he had overdone it. But thinking about the young Took's unbridled appetite, he decided that he had done the right thing. Pippin hadn't eaten in almost five days, he simply _had_ to be hungry. Even if he was not allowed to eat everything, at least the soup, the bread and the custard would surely make this meal a feast for the young Took.

Rain was pouring down in heavy curtains, cold and unwelcoming. The soil was soaked and the mud crept between his toes, making them uncomfortably wet and chilly. He hurried on, at the same time trying to stay as dry as possible and not to drop anything. 

The Healer's had told him in private to wait one more day before letting his hopes get too high that Pippin would recover completely. How he lived at all was an amazement to many. Pippin had only just woken up today for the first time in nearly a week, and his injuries had been grave indeed.

Merry needed no reminding of that. He would never, ever forget that day when he had lost Pippin, then had his little cousin so miraculously restored to him. But he would not dwell on the past. Pippin had come back, and now he had finally awakened, all would be well, and Merry refused to think of any other outcome. 

The Healer's may have said that this one day would decide everything, for good or ill, but Merry didn't waste a single thought on the ill. All of Merry's thought was bent on getting his cousin well again. He had seen Pippin's smile again, and had seen the twinkle in his cousin's eyes. He knew that the lad would be perfectly all right soon. 

And Merry would make sure that Pippin regained his strength as soon as possible – hence the food. Good old hobbit-remedy for everything. 

Of course, Pippin had nagged him long enough about it. It was incredible how much this small hobbit was willing to do for food. He had requested some ale, and when that didn't work tried wheedling and teasing, even his infamous pleading glance but Aragorn had strictly refused, and Pippin had re-learned, not for the first time, that it was better not to get into an argument with one's High King. 

How Aragorn had managed, though, Merry couldn't tell. He surely hadn't been able to refuse any of Pippin's wishes and so Merry had left his cousin about half an hour ago promising to fetch him a meal worthy of Bilbo Baggins. How the future Master of Buckland had managed to find all the things he had on his tray, he decided to make an elaborate tale worthy of cheering Pippin, a small but necessary reminiscence of their forays and tricks in the Shire. Not only for Pippin, but for him, Merry Brandybuck, too.

All of a sudden, Merry shivered, but it wasn't from the cold rain. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the Healer's walking through the rain, their figures upright and seemingly oblivious to the rain. Their steps were gravely slow, and all of a sudden, when Merry beheld a stretcher, covered with a large, white sheet, he recognised the shiver running up and down his spine. He had seen this a lot during the past days. One more soldier had fallen into shadow. It seemed unfair to Merry that even now, after the war had been won, so many good men were still losing their battle against the irresistible song of death.

The rain was starting to thoroughly soak his cloak and weskit, so Merry shook his head and continued. There had been enough sadness. He couldn't stand any more of it. 

At least Pippin was well. He tried to erase the picture he had just seen from his mind and walked on, bending his mind to more pleasant things. 

More pleasant things . . . Pippin trying to persuade Aragorn to fetch him a pint of ale, for example. A broad grin spread over Merry's features.

He reached the entrance of the tent, whistling cheerfully and greeting the soldiers who were walking by. They smiled at the newly kindled bright spirits of the halfling. 

"You seem to be in a good mood, Master Perian. It's nice to see someone smiling in this foul weather. Everyone else seems to be downcast because of it," one of them remarked when Merry passed him by. Rain dripped from the man's hair and coursed down his face, but his eyes sparkled warmly. Seeing the halfling and his loaded tray, he rushed forward and opened the tent flap for Merry. 

Over his shoulder, Merry replied: "Indeed I am. And I don't see why this weather is unpleasant. I quite like it." He grinned at the soldier, nodded his gratefulness and resumed walking, whistling again. 

He stooped low to open the white hangings which separated Pippin's side of the tent from the others. 

"Alright, dear Pippin, we have cheese and bread and tea and some fr . . ." 

Merry stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes widened. The tray slowly slipped from his suddenly numb fingers. He barely noticed the plates breaking on the floor. The heat of the spilled tea touched his feet. He didn't feel the pain.

Merry stared at the bed, unbelieving. He rubbed his eyes. But the picture he saw didn't change. 

The bed Pippin had been resting in was empty. Fresh, white linens gleamed dully in the murky twilight. The candle wasn't burning. 

Merry had seen this often enough during these past days when he had worked alongside the Healers. He had often been the one to do it. He knew what it meant to see a vacated bed, freshly made. 

But that couldn't be right. He had left only about half an hour ago, and back then, Pippin had been all right. Naturally, he had looked pale and tired, but that couldn't mean . . . 

__

"Today . . . for good or ill." The healer's words rang in his mind. He stared at the freshly made bed with unseeing eyes. 

The covered stretcher . . .

__

No. 

Pippin had only just woken up, he had talked to Merry, had squeezed his hand . . . most of all, Pip had been hungry . . . it was impossible that he . . . 

__

No. Oh please, no. 

The candle wasn't burning. 

Merry felt the darkness touching him. It fell on him like a thick fog that made it hard to breathe or move. 

The bed was empty. 

Pippin was gone. 

***

TBC

NOW: What do you think happened? Speculations?

Need to give thanks. Hopefully I won't forget anyone:

****

Mindel: Thank you, your reviews are very sweet, always manage to make me smile

****

Baylor: Woman, you're such an excellent author, and you're giving *me* feedback? *shakes head in disbelief*

****

Trilliah: How comes I always have to give a hearty shout of laughter when I read your feedback? No reviews on nindaiwe - not a single one. So . . . maybe you're going insane after all? *cheeky grin* 

****

Llinos: Love your cheering, woman. Can't say "thank you" often enough.

****

MarigoldG: Woman, you're amazing. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. (Beta-reader mine, does deserve a more enthusiastic reaction, does she not? *g*)

****

Brachan90: Sorry I haven't gotten back to you about posting on your site. Let me finish this first, 'kay?

****

Sharpe's Girl: Thank you for the enthusiastic review. It is amazing to see that people are actually so moved by the story. It's something I never expect while writing. So - thank you for telling me! Still, Please, hold Tolkien in higher regard than me. He's the real Master of words and atmosphere and beauty.

****

To all of you I surely have forgotten: Please know that your feedback is what keeps me writing. The warm, tingly feeling that rises when you see that people are actually *liking* what you're writing can only be surpassed by a trip to Scotland. *g*.

By the way, just in case you should be interested: There are certain pieces of music which have inspired this story or have simply been great to listen to, to get in the mood:

"Sons of Somerled" - Steve McDonald

"Marching Mystery" - Dougie MacLean

"A German Requiem" By Johannes Brahms

"Who can you trust" - Morcheeba

"Parallel dreams" and "Mask and Mirror" - Loreena McKennit

"Songs of sanctuary" - Adiemus

"Magnificat" - Claudio Monteverdi

"Concierto de Aranjuez" - Joaquin Rodrigo

And pretty much everything by Enya. :o)


	8. 8

A few changes to the version before, sorry for any inconvenience that may cause.

__

As I walk there, there before me a shadow

from another world, where no other can follow

carry me to my own, to where I can cross over...

close to home - I cannot say

close to home feeling so far away.

(Roma Ryan)

***

He had fled the dreadful, lonesome sight of Pippin's empty cot, but how he had managed to reach the open space once more, Merry could not tell. He had known only that he could not be in there for another instant, alone now in that place where he had been jesting together with his little cousin less than an hour past. The empty cot and snuffed candle were all that had remained, mocking Merry for having allowed himself to believe that all was now well. Rain, it's force abating slowly, still poured down on him, soaking his already wet clothes further.

The sky had lost its colour. Everything had lost its colour for Merry and seemed grey, distant, lifeless, because Pippin was no longer there to make things real. To make even Merry feel that he himself was real. 

His body and mind were beginning to fail him, the emptiness and weariness at last overcoming him. There was no more strength in him. No thought consoled him - he could not even bear to think. To be thrown into despair and pulled back, again and again, now back into despair, was tearing him asunder. Despite his foolish hope, he was alone in the ever increasing Shadow. His right arm grew cold again and he felt what little was left of himself withdrawing deeper into the darkness. 

Cold raindrops created dirty bubbles in the mud. Grey. Like his mind. Like his soul -- if he still possessed one. Grey. Like the dull pain which was all that remained of Meriadoc Brandybuck. 

Whoever was standing there in the rain, Merry realised with an odd detachment, it wasn't him. Merry defined himself through Pippin, and without him, it wasn't only that he was incomplete, but knew he had ceased to exist as Meriadoc Brandybuck. Since Pippin's birth they had been inseparable. Brothers in all but their parentage. Any other loss he could have borne. But not this. Not this. Not the loss of half of his soul. 

If only darkness would hurry. It was coming for him, he could sense it, and he prayed it would come quickly, so he could be with Pippin again.

Merry lowered his eyes. Raindrops clung to his lashes and pounded dully onto the tents with a drumming noise that made Merry remember his joy at the moment he had felt the fluttering thrum of Pippin's renewed heartbeat beneath his fingertips. At least he remembered he had known joy, but he could not remember what it had felt like, though he tried. He did try. A part of himself knew that Pippin would be disappointed in Merry for giving in so easily . . . another part knew that Pip would have been just as lost if he, Merry, were to leave the world without him. In the far distance, thunder rumbled - the storm beginning to pass away . . . as everything important to Merry had passed away.

Everything was grey.

Everything.

Except . . . something caught his eye and pulled him a little way out of the darkness . . . something . . . but even that something didn't seem to matter to him now.

Gandalf's white robes gleamed immaculate in the rain, as though neither rain nor mud could ever stain them. Unwillingly, his inbred Brandybuck inquisitiveness piqued his interest the tiniest bit and he couldn't help raising his eyes a little.

Still a good distance away, Gandalf was talking to Legolas. The elf was striding through the rain next to Gandalf, almost gliding over the puddles of water. He seemed unaffected by the weather, as much as Gandalf did and an open smile, which seemed like cruel mockery to Merry, played on his lips. Yet, for a moment, Merry held his breath. It seemed as though the elf was appearing in his true form, in a way that Merry had not been able to see him before, a white light surrounding him. He was shining, spreading light into the dreary day, offering illumination and hope where there had been none. It occurred to Merry, in a flash of understanding, that the Shadow had finally shrouded him. He was being drawn into the shadow-world, much like Frodo had been after he had been stabbed by the Morgul blade. Was this how his cousin had felt? Was this what he had seen? He had told them that Glorfindel had shone like a white, pure torch. But Legolas was no Firstborn, so how was it possible . . . ?

Again, weariness and grief assaulted him as he was thinking about his cousins, and the memories brought new comprehension.

This had to be the way Legolas appeared in the Shadow-world, since it was known elves had the ability to walk in both worlds at once. But if Merry could see the elf thus, that meant he was slipping to _the other side_. Merry could still feel the pull of the elf's purity, and for a moment his spiral into darkness slowed. A blinding caressing light, chasing away the fear the shadows brought, pouring confidence into the tortured soul. Purity and hope. 

Was this how Frodo had seen Glorfindel?

Then the light vanished, and there was only Legolas, still royal and tall and . . . elvish, but Legolas, after all. There was nothing supernatural about him anymore.

Merry felt as though he was watching now from somewhere else, like he was being drawn inside himself, and things began to grow dimmer. The icy cold spread to his side, and he could almost hear voices, voices that were calling him to the Shadows. He made one last attempt to do what Pippin would want him to do, and tried to force the whispering from his mind. He had given up almost to the point of no return. How could he have done that? Pippin would not have wanted Merry to give in this way, however much he would have understood. 

It had become so hard to think clearly since his encounter with the Wraith King, and even harder since the battle...since Pippin's battle...and he was so tired. But a part of his spirit did still burn, deep down, and he reached for that warmth, not because he wanted to for himself, but because he needed to, for Pippin.

He had to at least try.

Merry's eyes were drawn again to the shining figure of Gandalf, seeking an anchor to reality until he could find himself again. There was something about Gandalf that called to Merry, and he felt the darkness lessen and the shadow voices fade away. His side grew less cold, though his arm was still like ice.

Gandalf's hood was drawn up, and his still pristine white cloak was swaddled warmly about his shoulders. There was something about the way he was carrying himself that made Merry catch his breath though he did not know why.

Suddenly he felt himself filled with . . something he could not put a finger on. If it was hope he would not acknowledge it as such and risk yet another crushing blow. But he felt lighter somehow, even though it seemed almost blasphemic to feel that way. There was something about that cloak.

And Gandalf smiled. One of those rare, full-blown smiles, he had barely shown during the last weeks. The smile was not directed at Merry, for Gandalf's eyes were following the elf who returned some cheeky comment over his shoulder as he left the wizards side and walked toward the cluster of tents on the other side of the grounds. Quiet laughter followed.

Merry stood, rooted to the spot, his breath coming a little quicker as Gandalf, who had not yet noticed the small drenched figure in the shadow of the tent, strode closer.

Wisps of conversation drifted to him over the sound of the rain.

"No, indeed. I cannot tell you more." Gandalf's deep, cultivated voice reached Merry's ears as he walked steadily closer.

"But Gandalf, you said you would . . ."

Merry held his breath and closed his eyes. It wasn't possible. He couldn't hear what he was hearing. Or could he? This voice was as familiar as the scent of the sun warming the meadows in the Shire, as familiar almost as his own heartbeat. Yet ­ dare he believe? He barely comprehended what the voices were saying, just let the words wash over him as Gandalf approached. He still wasn't sure if what he heard wasn't the shadows playing cruel games on him, luring him closer.

***

TBC

A/N: Sorry this took so long – but this wee story really has been far more challenging than I thought. For a long, long time I was none the wiser than you were, so I hope that I'll be forgiven. :o\

Never-ending thanks go out to Leslie, Baylor, sincerity and Kati-Wan, without whom I would have given up.


	9. 9

__

We two have paddled in the burn

From morning sun till dine

[ . . .]

And here's a hand my trusted friend

And give a hand of thine

(Robbie Burns)

"I didn't say I would tell you everything. But maybe, if you asked me another question, I might be inclined . . ."

"Aye, then. What happened to Strider? I saw him looking so fearfully grave when I woke up ­ even more so than before. He always looked a bit too serious, if you ask me. I really should ask him to join Merry and me for a meal, that would cheer him up, don't you think?" A snort of laughter and some not overly nice comment followed that statement, but the boyish voice continued unintimidated: " . . . when can I see Frodo and Sam? Are they really doing better? Merry says that they are still sleeping. And is Merry really all right? I don't think he is Gandalf, though I know he's been very tired and worried lately. Maybe Strider will look at him later, just to make sure? Legolas looked well, but I haven't seen Gimli yet. Are you sure he is well? I have to thank him for finding me under that annoying, and may I add, quite heavy troll. Merry told me that Gimli and Legolas looked and looked for me . . .where is Merry do you think Gandalf? Why didn't we see him at the mess tent?" 

Merry's heart stopped for one seemingly endless second, only to start beating again with such vigour, that he felt it would burst at any moment.

Hope flared, and he welcomed it. Finally, he let himself believe. He opened his eyes, and Gandalf was now near enough for Merry to see some brown wisps of curls brushing the wizards snow white beard.

"Peregrin Took." Gandalf stopped the torrent of questions from under his cloak with a mildly reproachful tone of voice. "I know that you have not spoken in quite a while, but do you really have to make up for all your lost nattering in one day?" Good-natured teasing mingled with the fatherly words.

To Merry, all the humour of the situation was lost. He raced up to Gandalf, sending droplets of mud spraying in the direction of the white robes, when he came to a halt, just a few steps away.

Gandalf smiled. "Well, here's the answer to one of your questions Peregrin." A face looked out from the shelter of Gandalf's cloak. A face Merry knew better than his own. Green, sparkling eyes, unruly curls, fae features, and a small angular mouth, that started to form an exuberant greeting, then stopped abruptly as the sparkling eyes now crinkled in concern.

Merry stared for a moment in shock, then managed to utter a choked: "Pip?"

Pippin looked at the distressed face of the other hobbit with growing concern then sudden understanding dawned. "Oh, Merry! I am so sorry. Gandalf had come soon after you left, then the healers came and wanted to change the bed, so Gandalf took me for a walk to look for you. You were gone so long, and I was missing you...." Pippin trailed off, upset that he'd thoughtlessly put his cousin through yet another ordeal. He hadn't had time to actually comprehend what he'd put Merry through these past days, but now he saw a shade of a larger gloom clouding his cousin's face. Laid bare in Merry's usually twinkling eyes was such dread and sorrow as Pippin had never known. From the expression on Merry's face, Pippin was obviously not the only one who was distressed at any separation from his favourite cousin right now.

Merry fought back tears when he realised the misunderstanding in the tent. Pippin was here. Hadn't left him after all. How weak he had been, to simply assume that the worst must have happened without even considering that there were other possibilities. He had let himself jump to conclusions and nearly let himself be overwhelmed by the Shadow that had taken advantage of the opportunity and his emotional turmoil and exhaustion. "Oh, Pip." was all he could manage. 

Relief and worry, joy, pain and release clashed violently. Merry walked the last few steps, blinded by tears, until he stumbled, fell onto his knees and broke out in sobs that wracked his whole body.

He barely heard the horrified "Merry!" uttered by two voices.

Sightless with tears, he could only feel Gandalf lifting him up, then two small hands gathering him close.

Hesitantly, Merry returned the embrace, fighting the fear that this Pippin was just a vision who would suddenly disappear, leaving Merry bereft once more.

Out here, in the rain and the mud and the cold, the mere presence of Pippin flooded his spirit with warmth. A golden fire which caressed him, gave him warmth, but did not burn him. He started to feel whole again and the last of the icy tingle faded from his arm, and he felt a blackness leave him that had been buried so deep he had thought had thought it would forever be a part of him.

He had Pippin back. For good. And nothing would ever severe that link again.

Still, Merry couldn't contain his tears. It was almost as if his body needed to get all of those tears he had pushed back so often during the last days out in this one final burst of emotion.

Pippin and Gandalf seemed to understand, and both held him safely in their combined embrace till Merry's sobs slowed to small hiccups, then stopped at last. The wizard said, "I am sorry, too, Meriadoc. I had thought to have Pippin back before you returned. I thought a bit of fresh air would be to his good, but we should have waited for you to return rather than go searching for you. Pippin can be very persuasive though, as you know." Gandalf smiled down at him gently and gave Merry a look of sincere apology.

Merry sniffed a bit, then said in a quivering voice, "Fool of a wizard. And you, you Fool of a Took."

Two pairs of eyes smiled with him at his attempt to tease. Gandalf gave Merry an affectionate little shake. "Impudent lad. Undeniably the Took half," he chuckled as he began to walk with his double armful of hobbit on toward the tent. "Brandybucks wisely keep such cheek to themselves."

Merry lay back in the wizards secure embrace, safe and comfortable, then suddenly looked around in confusion. Gandalf did not just appear to be dry, he WAS dry, and the rain that had still been falling on him before Gandalf had scooped him up was falling on him no longer, yet it he could clearly see the drops spattering into the puddles on the soggy ground.

He looked at Pippin who of course knew what he wanted to know, and answered without him needing to ask. "It's magic, Merry," his cousin almost squealed in delight. "Can you imagine what Sam would say?"

Merry could scarcely think of what to say himself. He looked up at the wizard questioningly, and received an enigmatic grin for his troubles. "I do have skills other than making fireworks and arranging adventures for overly curious hobbits you know."

Merry opened his mouth for a question but Gandalf stopped it before he could ask.

"And no, as I was just trying to get through Peregrin's head before you came along, I cannot tell you how it works. You however are already rather wet and soggy, so I think we shall put an end to this demonstration and get you both snug and warm, shall we?" With that he strode into the sheltered warmth of the tent.

Dry garments were brought, new soup was served and Merry's bed was made up next to Pippin's. Then Gandalf left with a smile and the promise to come back after they had rested and answer more of Pippin's incessant questions.

They ate in silence. Merry barely took his eyes off his younger cousin and watched his every move. Pippin made no protest, and indeed was doing much the same to Merry, so comfortable just to be with him, and doing something so simple as sharing a meal, and knowing that they were safe and together. Knowing that the hard, fearful days were behind them, and they had - against all odds - weathered the storm.

Only once, Merry's gaze strayed to the candle next to Pippin's bed. It was alight again.

At that moment someone entered the tent, and a small draft swept through, just enough to make the now burning candle next to Pippin's bed sputter a little before leaping back up to burn with a steady flame. Merry blanched visibly.

"Merry?" Pippin asked in his piping, Tookish brogue. "What is wrong?"

Merry put down his bowl and gestured towards the candle with a shaking hand. "I failed you." He whispered. He couldn't look up, but felt Pippin gazing at him in confusion.

"What are you talking about, you silly hobbit? You saved my life, Merry. Gandalf told me what happened, and I know that it was you who called me back. No one else could have - I was too far away to have heard anyone but you. How then have you failed me Merry?"

"No." Merry insisted. "I failed you. The candle . . ."

Pippin raised a questioning eyebrow. "What about it? I'm trying to express to you my heartfelt gratitude for saving my life, and you are talking about a candle?"

"I did fail you." Merry insisted, not heeding the teasing tone in his cousin's words. "Before you left, you asked me not to let the light go out, to keep it safe, but I didn't. I didn't mean to, but I let the light die."

Merry looked up to meet his eyes and Pippin's brow crinkled in confusion. "You couldn't have. It was burning when I woke up, and I can see it burning now. "

Merry stared at him, bewildered. His cousin didn't seem to understand. Or was it he that did not understand? He looked over at the candle again, then at Pippin, unsure even how to articulate what he wanted to say, or rather ask.

Once again Pippin made his question unnecessary. "You thought I meant the candle, didn't you, Merry? Silly hobbit!" he laughed, shaking his head, "Just like a Brandybuck, to worry yourself frantic over something symbolic like a candle. My poor old Merry!"

"What did you mean then, Pippin, if not the light of the . . ?" asked Merry, still confused.

"You keep talking about that silly candle, Merry. Let it go." Pippin reached out and put a hand over Merry's, and looked at him with compassion. "You and Frodo ­ just like two apples on the same tree ­ always dwelling on such glum thoughts." A boyish smile flickered over his face, but his eyes were solemn in a way Merry had seen them only once before ­ that night in Minas Tirith.

"I wasn't talking about wax and burning wicks. I meant the light that burns in you, Merry. The Shadow was still so near, and . . . I feared for you." Pippin laced his fingers with Merry's. "I am glad to see that you never lost the light."

Tentatively, Merry closed his eyes and searched for an answer inside him. Could it be true? Had he really misunderstood his cousin? But how could this light be in him? He was nothing but a hobbit. Then, as he asked himself that question, he recalled Legolas in the rain, shining bright for all with eyes to see. Surely Pippin could not mean that Merry had THAT kind of light in him?

Could Pippin see him in that way? And, he realized, did he not recognize a similar light in Pippin himself?

For a few moments, nothing happened. But then he saw the flickering of a candle on the insides of his eyelids, burning clear and strong, giving a warm light that flooded his soul.

With a start, he opened his eyes again and stared at Pippin, who was slurping away at his soup again, giving Merry quick, worried glances between bites.

Merry thought about how he would reach out to Pippin with his eyes or his ears or his hands, all of his senses turning to Pippin like a compass turning to north, never lost when he had that touchstone. Is that what he was to Pippin, a light that he could turn to and know who and what and where and why he was, at any time?

And did it not work the other way as well?

Pippin quickly finished his soup and began eyeing Merry's bowl with a coveting glance.

If he needed anything to assure him that Pippin was indeed alright, then Merry had found it in this one glance. The restored, unbridled appetite of Peregrin Took was the most accurate proof for well-being he could think of.

After a second, and actually, a third helping of soup and then, of the creamy dessert, they retired, full, warm and content.

Their beds were close, and after a while of watching the weightless dance of the candle's flame in the utter darkness, Merry reached out a hand for Pippin.

His cousin's small hand warmed his cool one quickly, and Merry smiled in the semi-darkness, thinking about how good it would feel to sleep with the reassuring presence of his cousin nearby.

After a while, Pippin moved to sit up one last time, ready to extinguish the candle.

"Don't!" Merry cried and closed his finger's tighter around Pippin's. "Leave it burning. Just one more night."

"It's just a candle, Merry, don't be so melodramatic," Pippin said with twinkling eyes and mock exasperation in his voice. "It won't explain the night to you."

Then, unexpectedly, he became solemn, and looked into Merry's still vaguely haunted eyes. Acutely aware of his actions he carefully moved forward, never breaking eye-contact with his cousin, and blew out the candle with a soft breath.

The golden gleam vanished and the very last glowing of the wick reflected in Pippin's irises. The small hand tightened around Merry's and the words drifted easily through the darkness. "The light is in you." Pippin repeated his statement from before. "It always was. Don't ever doubt that."

The warmth of the palm that held his hand was nothing next to the warmth of the words.

As he allowed that comfort to wash over and envelope him, Merry thought about all that had happened to him during the course of this day. It was then that he perceived a soft snoring from the bed next to him.

A smile spread over Merry's features. Finally, he understood the truth. The flame inside him flared up, making the gloom retreat, and the haunting shadow left his heart for good. 

Even though he was hundreds of leagues away from the Shire, he was home.

**__**

fin

__

A/N: Now, finally, the tale has found an ending. It never would have without these wonderful ladies:

Murron (who, in case it confuses anyone, is Kati-Wan :o) ), MarigoldG, Baylor and sincerity who gave suggestions, made the story deeper and more powerful and last but definitely not least: Quiller, who helped to tighten the whole thing and make it readable.

Ladies, I wouldn't know what I would have done without you. Probably would have run screaming, chased by hobbits, wizards and kings . . . There were times when I thought I wouldn't finish it. But you always helped me up with kind words or a smack in the head. Both was necessary, and I want to tell you one thing: I really do love you all. *comfy sigh* It's great to have a couple of such talented women around me, and I feel honoured to know you and call you my friends.


End file.
